


let him rest

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: A really shitty couch, Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, In case you couldn't figure that out, Lack of Communication, Post-Prison, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The couch is the source of the sleeping issues, season 7, sleeping issues, talking through issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Months after Oliver has been released from prison and pardoned, he banishes himself to the couch and struggles to sleep, plagued by the worry that his dredged up survival instincts could cause him to lash out and hurt Felicity and William.Diggle and Felicity lend their support. They always seem to have the answers.





	let him rest

**Author's Note:**

> yah idk. just wrote this i guess.
> 
> enjoy

Oliver hated the couch. With a rich, burning passion.

To be honest, for sitting on, it was a perfectly adequate piece of furniture. It was decent enough to sit on for extended periods of time, such as during movie nights, or taking short naps on.

But for sleeping on? All night? The archer had already made plans to build a bonfire and burn the couch to a crisp.

It was only his own fault he was experiencing such misery. The moment he had arrived back from prison and he, Felicity and William had moved back into their original Star City apartment, he’d banished himself from his and his wife’s bedroom to the couch. Felicity was so bitter and angry with him for excluding her from family decisions and his opposition to her fighting back against Diaz that she didn’t protest at first. But after days turned into weeks, she began worrying for Oliver; his chronic back injuries were acting up, making it so he could hardly walk without pain, and often the archer found himself sleeping on the floor instead of on top of the couch, as he was too tall to fit onto it comfortably.

William flat out told his father that he thought he was being stupid, that once Oliver had properly apologized to both of them and Felicity had fully forgiven him, he should have moved straight back into their bedroom. But Oliver couldn’t convince himself to. After all the agony, frustration and sadness he’d put his wife and son through during those months he was in prison and they were in witness protection, he thought that some extra suffering on his end was deserved. His real reason for his couch banishment wasn’t punishing himself, but it served as justified retribution.

No, the real reason Oliver was forcing himself to sleep on that wretched piece of furniture was that, after months of struggling to endure numerous assaults in Slabside, Oliver didn’t trust himself not to accidentally hurt Felicity in his sleep.

Being thrust back into that fight-or-die environment, similar to Lian Yu in so many ways, had brought Oliver’s old survival instincts back to the surface. He’d developed an aversion to touch. While in jail, the only touch he’d ever received from other human beings was when he was being viciously attacked, harshly patted down during weapons searches or roughly patched up when badly injured. His mental health was frankly appalling anyway, and even though he was forced to attend mandatory therapy while in Slabside, the prison had only worsened his paranoid and hyper-vigilant state of mind.

Despite knowing and trusting Felicity and William, Oliver couldn’t help but flinch and cringe away from his family after returning home. He knew there was no chance they would hurt him physically, but after months of only feeling pain when somebody had touched him, it was hard not to automatically lash out in defense of himself.

Oliver was terrified that one day, Felicity or William might come up behind him and touch him, and his instincts would cause him to react violently towards them. He was scared of accidentally harming them when all they wanted to do was offer him comfort and affection. Sleeping in the same bed with Felicity when he was worried that her brushing up against him, or gently shaking him awake from a nightmare, would result in his hands wrapped tightly around her throat... was just tempting fate.

The archer was damaged and traumatized and anxious. He always had been. But never had he not been able to trust himself around his family. Which was why he was sleeping on the couch. He knew that withdrawing from Felicity and William wasn’t good for him or their already strained relationships, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ended up hurting them. Selfish as he was, Oliver didn’t want to leave, despite knowing that his wife and son would probably be safer if he did. So sleeping on the couch, maintaining a distance between them all and being cautious around them was his compromise.

John, of course, thought he was being stupid. The Smoak-Queen family were invited around to the Diggles’ house for a dinner one Saturday evening, and while William was playing Legos with JJ and Lyla and Felicity were off enjoying red wine and talking ARGUS investing in Smoak Tech, John dragged Oliver aside to talk to him.

“If you’re going to tell me I’m being an idiot, you don’t need to,” the archer said tiredly, before his friend could level a stern look at him and begin a lecture. “Nobody knows more than me how idiotic I’m being.”

“I was actually going to ask you how you’re doing,” John replied softly. Oliver didn’t like how his old bodyguard was examining him with a concerned gaze. “Because no offense, but you look like _shit_.”

Running slightly shaking hands over his face, Oliver rolled his eyes and responded, “Thanks,” sarcastically.

“No, Oliver, I’m serious,” John shook his head. “You look awful. You’ve got huge black bags under your eyes, your entire forehead is made of frown lines, you’re hunching over like you’re eighty years old, not just thirty… have you not been sleeping well recently?”

“I haven’t been sleeping at all.”

“It shows. I was worried you were about to faint on us during dinner. You can’t be feeling great at the moment.”

“The light-headedness is a constant now. I don’t think there’s been a day since the pardoning that I haven’t felt dizzy or weak.” He glanced away with a weary sigh when John’s expression shifted into one of distress. “I’m not sick or anything, John. Dr Schwartz says it’s just because of the not sleeping thing.”

“Because you’re still insisting on sleeping on the couch,” John crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, man, I know you’re finding it difficult to re-adjust after getting out of prison, kind of like how you struggled when you first got back from the island, but this self-destructive behavior has got to stop. You’re scaring Felicity and William.”

Oliver swallowed roughly. “Felicity’s been speaking to you about me?”

“Yeah, she has. Told me all about how you’re pushing her and William away; said they’ve been forced to make up ridiculous little lies to get you to even look at them, let alone talk or spent time with them.”

The archer narrowed his eyes, glaring down at his hands as he remembered how last week, Felicity had bought the wrong type of washing powder by ‘accident’, the biological one that irritated Oliver’s skin, and he’d had to go shopping with her to remind her which one they normally used. He’d felt uneasy the entire time as Felicity liked linking her arm with his and holding hands, which in a crowded, claustrophobic setting such as a busy superstore, just set Oliver on edge. Maybe that ‘project’ of William’s two weeks ago, where he’d needed his dad’s help to design his own political platform, had been a ruse as well… thinking more deeply about it, Oliver realized that kids William’s age probably didn’t even study politics at school. He’d spent that entire weekend hiding how much he was trembling, trying not to bolt away from William when he sat right next to the archer at the kitchen table, as Oliver was apparently the only person his son could ask for help with this project from.

It saddened him to think that Felicity and William so desperately wanted to connect again that they were making up excuses to get close to him. They shouldn’t have to go to so much effort to convince Oliver to spend time with them. He was a failure of a husband and a father. It was terrible that his own personal fears and anxieties meant he was reluctant to hang out with his family, in case something triggered him to snap and lash out at them.

“Please just talk to them,” John sighed. “They lost you for months, Oliver… they feel like they’re losing you again. Only this time it’s not because you’re in prison, it’s because you’re deliberately withdrawing. And this whole sleeping on the couch gig needs to stop before you permanently mess up your spine and end up passing out from exhaustion.”

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have a reason,” the archer muttered.

“Does it have to do with being concerned you’re gonna hurt them?”

Oliver’s eyes snapped up to John, shocked.

John just smiled at him knowingly. “It’s pretty much one of your signature moves. You pull away from the people you love because you’re afraid you’re somehow going to hurt them. I’ve been on the receiving end of that pulling away multiple times, Oliver. Felicity has too. She knows what you’re doing. She just doesn’t really understand why.”

“Then what can I do to work through this?” Oliver asked, mostly himself and under his breath, but John caught the question. 

“She can tell that you’re getting worked up over something and she sympathizes with you for that, but more than anything, she wants you to open up to her. That’s always been your issue, Oliver. You just don’t comprehend that talking about your problems will fix most of them.” He clapped the archer on the shoulder lightly, shooting him an apologetic look when Oliver instinctively flinched. “Communicate with your wife and son. Things will get better, I promise.”

“I don’t know where to start,” Oliver bit his lip nervously. “I don’t like talking about my emotions… when it comes to this, how do I figure out where to begin?”

“Begin with asking to move back into yours and Felicity’s bed,” John suggested. “If she asks why you’ve been so stubborn on the sleeping on the couch front, tell her honestly why.”

“That’ll just upset her even more.”

“Better she be upset and know what’s going on so she can help you, than she be upset because she has no idea how to improve things.”

Oliver inclined his head. “True,” he admitted. What John was saying made a lot of sense. Although, John always seemed to know most of the answers to his problems. “Thank you.”

The Smoak-Queen family arrived home very late that night. The archer didn’t get the opportunity to talk to Felicity, as his wife kissed William goodnight and headed straight into the bathroom to shower quickly and get ready for bed. Oliver sat down on the couch, pulling out the pillow and blankets he was storing beneath it, resigning himself to another horrific, cramped, nightmare-filled night of restlessness.

But then just as he’d locked up and switched the lights off, Felicity emerged from their bedroom dressed in one of his old t-shirts and panties, her blue eyes shining and determined, and she said - no, _ordered_ \- “Come to bed.”

She obviously hadn’t expected him to comply, because she appeared astonished when Oliver listened and stood silently, following her into the bedroom. He stripped off down to his boxer briefs and allowed his wife to maneuver him under the comforter on his usual side of the bed, onto his side so that she could slide up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his chest securely and carefully ran one of her bare feet along the back of his calves, something she’d used to do before he went to prison to calm him down. Oliver stiffened when he felt her breath dance along the back of his neck and she pressed tender kisses across his shoulder blades, causing tingles to spread down his spine, but he didn’t move away as instinct screamed at him to.

Usually, this position with Felicity spooning him from behind would cause him to drop off to sleep almost instantly, the feeling of being safely held soothing him, but due to his current touch aversion, he couldn’t enjoy it. It just made Oliver tense up even more.

“I thought I’d get you off the couch for the night,” Felicity said. “I’ve been telling you for months we need to replace it. The springs are broken and it’s barely cushioned, I have no clue how you can stand sleeping on it.”

“I can’t,” he replied.

“I didn’t think so.”

“I’m probably not going to sleep here either, though,” he told her quietly, deciding to be honest.

“I know,” Felicity answered. She sounded sad. He couldn’t see her, but he could tell she had an expression of sorrow on her face. “You haven’t exactly been hiding the flinching away when William and I touch you. I just wanted to hug you. I miss cuddling with my husband.” Her arms released from around his chest and she scooted back so there was a foot of space between them. The archer hated how it made him relax. “Better?”

“I’m sorry,” was all Oliver could respond, his voice cracking.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry I’ve been upsetting you and William.”

“We’re not upset… we’re worried,” she replied. “I told Will that’s it’s your PTSD acting up and you’re having a depression episode because you’re overwhelmed by all the sudden changes in our lives. I managed to reassure him that you need your own space for a while to work through this yourself. Tell me, did I lie to our son?”

He shook his head, kneading the pillow beside his head agitatedly, one of the new anxious ticks he’d picked up, not unlike his archer’s habit of rubbing his right hand’s thumb and finger together as he itched to grab an arrow from a non-existent quiver. “Not really. My PTSD is bad, you were right about that.”

“But that’s not all, is it?”

A hint of a smile on his lips, Oliver twisted around so he was facing his wife in the darkness. Felicity’s eyes blinked back at him, half-lidded with tiredness but still reasonably alert. “I can’t believe I forgot how perceptive you are.”

Felicity didn’t laugh at his attempt at a joke. “You always say that I use humor as a defense mechanism, but now you’re doing it yourself.”

“You know I don’t like talking about my feelings.”

“You never do.”

“Then you’ll understand how difficult it is for to admit that I’m scared.”

Felicity shifted, causing the bed to judder beneath the both of them. Oliver’s breath hitched when he felt his wife carefully grasping his hand, entwining their fingers so she could very gently trace circles on his palm with her thumb. “Can you tell me what you’re scared of?”

“Hurting you. Hurting William.”

“You’re not going to hurt us, Oliver.”

“Not consciously or willingly, yes,” his voice shook. “But if I’m startled or approached from behind, or asleep and having a nightmare…”

Felicity shushed him lightly. “Both William and I know not to touch you or go near you if you’re having a nightmare. And both of us know enough about your PTSD to realize surprising or sneaking up on you is an awful idea.”

He wiped at his eyes with his free hand to try and get rid of the tears gathering there. “I’m still terrified of accidentally striking out at you. Prison changed me, Felicity. Not as much as Lian Yu, Hong Kong, and Moscow changed me, but it still changed me. My threat processing is just as fucked up as it was when I first got back to Lian Yu. What happens if one day, in the heat of the moment, I accidentally discern you or William as a danger and attack you?”

“You don’t know that will happen,” she tried to comfort him.

Oliver huffed, getting annoyed that she didn’t understand. “But it _could_ happen, Felicity, that’s the point I’m trying to make. When I’m stuck in that survival mindset, I could kill you or Will without even realizing what I’m doing.”

“Okay. I hear what you’re saying. You’re concerned that you could panic and attack us, and we wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“Yes.”

“And you think that the lashing out thing is basically inevitable.”

“Yes,” he gritted out.

Felicity hummed. “Okay, so instead of thinking about you attacking us and avoiding that, we think about what would happen if you _did_ attack us, and how we could stop you from hurting us. Could you teach us how to do that?”

Oliver froze. Ran that over in his head again. He’d never thought of that before. “You… you’re talking about learning self-defense?”

“If it would make you feel better and more comfortable around William and me.”

He frowned, mulling it over. “I wouldn’t be able to teach you.”

“Alright,” Felicity said easily. “Then we would get John or Dinah to teach us. Both of them have sparred with you before and know your fighting style. John can train William and Dinah can train me. I’ve been planning to start working out with her again anyway, I need to brush up on my more advanced skills. William will love the chance to learn some martial arts; you know he was begging me for lessons when a programme started up at his school in Witsec.”

Oliver shook his head, aghast. Felicity had come up with a solution to his problem within _minutes_ of them talking to one another. Pushing past that squirming feeling in his chest that flared up at human contact, the archer pulled Felicity into his arms, embracing her tightly. “You’re remarkable. Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

“No,” she said, very blunt in her answer, but her voice was kind. “That’s not your fault though. That’s the demon that lives at the back of your mind’s fault, telling you that you don’t deserve to be loved and you’re not worthy of being happy. But I know you love me, Oliver, that’s why I married you. And I love you too.” Burying her head into his neck, she mumbled, “Will you stay in bed with me tonight? I know you’re planning on going back to the couch after I fall asleep… but I miss sleeping next to you. I don’t like waking up alone.”

“I don’t either,” Oliver confessed. “I’ll stay with you, if you promise to get out of the room if I fall asleep and have a nightmare, and stay out until I wake up and say it’s safe for you to come back in.”

“I promise. No more couch?” Felicity asked hopefully.

“No more couch,” he confirmed.

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not kidding, there were moments that I feared for that couch’s life. You glowered at it so much, I thought it might spontaneously combust.”

“I sense a trip to Ikea in our future,” Oliver commented. “Tomorrow morning?”

“After you talk to William over breakfast,” she nodded. “He deserves an explanation as well.”

“I’ll make omelets for us all and I will tell William everything.”

She patted his chest. “Good husband. Sleep now.”

The two of them fell silent, letting the darkness sweep over them. Oliver remained awake in the pitch black of the room and watched with adjusted eyes as his wife’s eyes closed and her breathing evened out, signifying that she was slipping into a slumber beside him. He should have built up the courage before and talked to Felicity. It had only been due to John’s help that he’d plucked up enough strength to admit to his issues. But now that Oliver’s problems were out in the open, he and Felicity had a solution - they’d worked together to figure something out to fix the complication, as partners. He owed both John and Felicity a lot.

After a couple of minutes, it appeared Felicity hadn’t actually been sleeping at all as she said, her voice very slightly slurred from exhaustion but still clear enough to be understandable: “Oliver? You have my permission to take that couch down to the bunker and shoot it with arrows as much as you want. Please destroy the shit out of that dreadful piece of furniture for screwing with your back and coming between us.”

He chuckled, a lightness in his chest for the first time in months. “Yes, honey.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed
> 
> tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13  
> twitter: @lexiblackbriar


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